Gingerbread
by SilverCascade
Summary: Sam and Jess bake together. Fluff ensues. Stanford era. Two-shot.
1. Real Cooking

Sam had never done anything like this before, and he hated the way his large hands trembled. Slick drops of perspiration formed at his brow; he took a deep breath. Really, he had no need to feel the way he did; after all, there came a time in every man's life where he had to do something like this. For some it was sooner, in their early years, and for others, it was much, much later.

For Sam it was somewhere in-between.

Having protested at first, the adamant girl had eventually won him around, soft words and sweet kisses enticing him in. He rarely said no to Jess, and these days the fact stood more so than ever – she had him wrapped around her little finger.

Now she stood before him, beaming.

"Jess, I really don't think-" He tried to protest, but she was too quick.

"Oh no you don't!" she warned,and before he knew it she was behind him. Her full lips met the back of his neck, softly, and her warm breath tickled him as she whispered.

"Don't look so scared, Sam. This won't hurt." He felt her arms around and then behind him as she tied the strings tight across his back. She stepped forward again, chuckling. "You look adorable."

Sam knew he now wore the same apron as she did; starched white bordered by deep blue gingham, it held the air of a professional housewife. The young Winchester grimaced and then smiled good-naturedly. "How did I let you talk me into this?"

"Very easily," Jess laughed, the sound rich and free, and kissed him on the nose. She turned, pulling out the heavy recipe book and propping it against the back of the wall. Casting a quick glance over the page, she nodded. "Let's get started!"

"This isn't real cooking," he said, and the young woman stopped for a moment. "Can't we make lasagna or tacos instead? Or maybe try something exotic like paella?"

"C'mon Sam, I though you wanted to spend more time together."

"I do. I just thought if we were cooking, we'd be cooking real food."

"Shut that big mouth, mister," she cautioned, though her eyes were teasing. She pouted her lips. "The ladies are always willing to shut you up."

"I don't mind."

"Hmm. We'll see how these turn out first; let's hope they don't burn."

"It's not too late to change your mind," Sam suggested, sidling up to her and slipping an arm around her waist. He pulled away when she rolled her eyes; he gestured to his clothes, with which he had no problem, bar the apron. "I mean, is it possible for me to look any more feminine right now?"

Jess took a step towards him. "Let's see..." She started playing with his hair, smoothing his bangs forward and them back, holding them to one side and then the other, nodding appreciatively at each different style. Sam's shoulders sagged and he looked at her with a pouting smile, admiring how her face was so feline in feature, but not dauntingly so. Her eyes were wide and warm, and her jaw line was creamy smooth. He tried to look serious, but it was not long before the chuckles overcame him.

"Jess!" he laughed, brushing her hands away. She joined in the laughter, unable to keep a straight face any longer.

"Will you stop complaining now?" she asked.

"I'm not complaining! All I'm saying is, can't I do something else while you bake?"

"Well, we're making gingerbread men, and I thought that'd be manly enough. Or shall we make gingerbread women instead, if that's the problem?" Jess looked at him, raising her eyebrows and waving the spoon like a magic wand.

Sam sighed, defeated. "You win. I'll bake with you."

But baking, Sam soon realized, was not as easy it looked. It was one thing to devour a fancily made biscuit after an appreciative glance and quite another to put it together from scratch. It was a type of building, he learned, and it was borderline an art. Jess had always insisted it a craft, and Sam had nodded along, not believing in its intricacies until now.

He began by fetching the ingredients: flour, butter, sugar, and eggs. Jess had planned ahead, as it was her idea, and had picked up the finer touches: cinnamon and icing sugar and button-sized candies, not to mention the all-important powdered ginger.

Within half-an-hour of pouring and stirring and blending (and the occasional pause for kissing), Sam and Jess were covered in the ingredients. In fact, Sam wondered if there was more of the stuff on them than in the big bowl she held, whipping it with force.

Sam leaned back on the counter, pretending to dust the flour from the sleeves of his shirt whilst watching her work. She was coated in the dull amber of brown sugar dusted through with cinnamon, and her apron held patches of flaking flour. Blonde curls bounced as her head nodded to the beat of the radio; it purred out some smooth jazz, which was Jess' favourite. _She doesn't look quite like a jazz fan,_ he thought, smiling, _but then again, people surprise you._ Her lips, pink and bud-like, pursed together, and her brow creased in the way it always did when she was concentrating. Sam's smile widened, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. Her toned arm whisked the mixture, and his mind drifted to the other ways she had put that muscle to use.

Jess looked up and saw him staring. Sam averted his gaze, the heat rising to his cheeks; he knew that she knew of what he had been thinking.

"Like what you see, baby?" she teased, taking the dripping wooden spoon out of the mix. Her tongue darted out and she licked it clean. Sam watched her again, and she winked at him, holding out the spoon. He licked it, tentative, and the sweet mixture of sugar and the taste that was so distinctively Jess caressed his taste buds. The young woman moved the wood away and pulled him close, one cool hand against his chin. She kissed him lightly and he kissed her back; she smiled.

"I'm so lucky to have you," she murmured as his kisses created a path along her neck. He paused, glancing up at her, his smoky blue eyes wide. He stood tall, taking both her hands in his, and placed his lips on her forehead, barely brushing the smooth skin.

"Not as lucky as I am to have you," he said quietly. Jess smiled, sliding her arms around him and leaning into his shoulder, cheek against the flour-covered shirt.

The song that played was a soulful rendition of White Christmas by the great Kenny G, whom she loved. Sam had come to appreciate jazz in general in time, but did not _feel_ it even half as much as she did. They moved with grace, left and right, swaying; their hands slipped around each other to more comfortable places. She sighed softly, moving her head until it rested on his chest. Jess could hear Sam's heart beating, a slow, steady rhythm that lulled her into calmness.

"Sam," she murmured; that was all she said, but she wanted to say more. His arms wrapped protectively around her, and his chin sat atop her head. The scent of pine and rain and fresh forests drifted up from her golden halo of curls, and he wondered if, for the first time in his life, he had been blessed with an angel.

"Hey," he said to her, pulling her back so her could look into her curious blue eyes. "I love you so much."

Jess smiled, and hugged him tightly. "I love you more, my little boo."

"Who are you calling little?" Sam raised an eyebrow, chuckling.

"Didn't think you'd appreciate being called big boo," she laughed, "or something like sugar daddy." Her eyes drifted to the oven as she turned, and she spotted that the temperature had rocketed. "It's ready!"

"Hm?" For a moment, Sam had forgotten that they were baking, and biscuits of all things. _If Dean were here,_ he thought suddenly, _he'd have a field day with the teasing._

Jess whirled about the kitchen, smacking baking trays across the counter; she began to pour the batter across, a thin sheet of mix sitting on the greased tin like a second skin. Giving a sudden gasp, she thrust the bowl half-full of batter into Sam's hands and darted around the kitchen, picking up spoons and forks and small bowls stained with messy ingredients. Sam glanced at her curiously; she only nodded, but as he tried to pour the remainder of the creamy mix into the tray, his arm slipped. Gasping as he tried to catch the bowl, the liquid splattered onto him, trickling down his chest. He caught the bowl in time, for if the ceramic had hit the tiled floor, there would be trouble. She turned at the sound of him fumbling; her petite hand flew to her mouth as she giggled. The sight of Sam covered in biscuit mix, flour and various other foodstuffs was suddenly too much, and as he glanced down at himself, he laughed too.

"Now aren't you glad I made you wear the apron?" Jess said, wiping the side of the tray with a cloth and placing the metal tin into the oven. "Now that's taken care of, let's sort out my little boo."

"Stop calling me that," Sam protested weakly, but she only swiped a finger across his chest, picking up a trail of batter, and slipped it between her lips. Sam's eyes widened as she pulled it out with a pop.

"I know what we can do while they're cooking." Her eyes slid to the timer and Sam's followed; the cookies would take forty minutes to cook, slow and steady.

"Jess, I-" Sam was cut off by her finger in his mouth, covered once again in batter. For lack of a better thing to do, he sucked as she dragged it back out. He glanced at her quizzically, wondering if she really meant what she meant.

The girl was not one to play games; when she wanted something, she would tease, but not without making her intentions clear. Jess took his hand in hers and led him to the bedroom, sweet candied breath promising him a rollicking time. "Let's get you cleaned up, Sam."


	2. Sugar and Spice

Their re-entrance into the kitchen matched the ping of the oven. They had changed their clothes, of course, since what had gone on in the past forty had been messy but enjoyable. Jess' blue smurf tee barely covered her midriff, and her sweatpants were loose and comfortable. She slipped on the oven mitts and opened the door of the metal cage; the heavy scent of Christmas, of cinnamon and warm pastry, slammed into them like a brick to the face. They grinned at each other, punch-drunk from the intensity. The tray sat atop the counter, poised precariously on a heatproof mat from one of the girl's lab classes.

"It's not an experiment, Jess," Sam said, laughing at how ridiculous it looked among the other flowery equipment. Like a touch of rust and dirt among a sweet enigma, its presence revealed an edge to the girl. After all, her response was to simply raise her eyebrows.

"Everything is chemistry when you're a chemistry major," she said, blowing on the tray to cool it faster, trying to stop her mouth watering.

"Not outside of class," Sam joked, pointing to the mat. "I rest my case."

"You can speak law jargon but I can't argue the chemical qualities of baking? Classy, Winchester!"

"Well," Sam began to relent. "I'm sure some things about the process _are_ chemical." She turned and he kissed her; the young woman pulled away, giggling, and delved into a drawer, returning with a set of cookie cutters. Sam grimaced, and she rolled her eyes at his response.

"Come on, before the mix cools!" Jess handed him the gleaming silver metal; for a moment, and just for a fleeting moment, it reminded him of the blades he used to handle with ease. He flinched; she looked up at him, eyes holding concern. "You don't have to help, but..."

"No, I want to help," he said, shaking the unruly thoughts from his head. _That was then and this is now._

"Everything okay, boo?" she asked; the first tooth of metal bit into the dough, and as she peeled it back, the soft flesh came away. A slightly raggedy gingerbread man sat atop the plate, ready to be iced. Sam nodded, smiling a small smile, and focused on whipping up some icing. A few drops of food coloring later, a light pink and pure white set sat beside each other.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "It's nothing."

Jess knew him well enough to know not to press the matter; he would open up in his own time. He always did. Taking one of the cookie cutters, he helped her carve the little men from the dough, freeing them from their pastry constraints.

"Careful," said Jess, and then, out of the blue, smacked the top of her head with a sticky palm.

"It just hit you, didn't it?" Sam laughed, realizing the content of her revelation. "We're doing this backwards!"

"Ugh. I knew it, I knew something was wrong!"

"I don't bake, and even _I_ know you've got to cut the little guys out before you put them in the oven."

Jess rolled her eyes, aware of her own mistake. "In my defence, my specialities are cookies and cakes. Neither of which require cutting."

"Justify it all you want," he said, his elbow jostling her. "Little Miss Perfect messed up, and that's what counts."

"Hush," she mock-whispered. "If we do this right, they might not be able to tell."

Sam laughed, and they returned to their work. As they chatted about the little things, the young man's fingers carefully spooned the icing out she directed him; a little for the ruffles on the hands and feet in white, and three buttons in pink. She took the tiny silver orbs and pressed them into the drops of icing, and spooned some into an icing bag.

"Now to put smiles on their faces," she said, and squeezed out little half-moons that altered their expressions. Sam couldn't help smile alongside the simple-featured men of dough, and he knew Jess was his ray of sunshine. The snow poured down outside and the wind howled through the distorted harmonica of cracks in their flat, but it didn't matter. She always took smiles wherever she went, distributing them to people's faces without even realizing it; her presence _warmed_.

As Jess worked, her hand gave a spasmodic jerk; the result was a lopsided, curling gingerbread man missing half his feet. She sighed, and peeled what was left of him into the plate. Despite his mangled limbs, he looked delicious, and the girl picked a chunk from his arm and ate it.

"Mmm, that is_ good_."

Intrigued, Sam snapped off the remaining leg and placed it in his mouth. The sharp snap of ginger and the melt-in-mouth pastry rolled across his tongue, and he shut his eyes.

"Jess, these are amazing!"

"I know - I helped make them. They've got the magic Moore touch, full of sugary goodness," she winked. Her brassy laugh rang out as she waved the tips of her fingers. "A splash of Winchester for some spice too, right?"

Sam smiled, wanting to go along with her notion that being a Winchester was a good thing.

"We add a kick, yes," he said. As he reached for another piece of gingerbread, Jess batted his hand away; Sam looked at her, baffled, and a mysterious twinkle appeared in her eye. She broke off a piece and pushed it against Sam's lips, and he understood; she slipped it past and into his mouth.

Jess watched Sam smile again, and thought to how lucky she was; that smile could light up a room, and she was enveloped in a warm fuzziness whenever she knew herself to be its cause. Her thoughts slipped away as Sam placed a piece on her lips, kissing it lightly, before she opened her mouth. She smiled, relishing the ginger snap, and deep brown crumbs gathered at the corners of her lips. Sam's hand cupped her chin, and his lazy thumb brushed them away. She looked up at him, his angel circled in a halo of gold, and her smile widened.

Leaning in, he kissed her tenderly, fearful he might break her. It was her who pulled him in, kissing him harder, her lips smashing into his. She smiled at the look of surprise on his face, and chuckled. When Sam raised an eyebrow, she returned to the job at hand, giggling quietly to herself. Surprising him was always fun, and she looked for little ways to show Sam that not everything was part of a rigid routine.

They finished carving and icing without idle conversation; the smooth jazz spilled from the radio. Jess sidled up and turned it down as the final man was dressed and booted up. She packed them into a large container, storing it in the hulking fridge.

"They're ready for the trip tomorrow," she said, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "Brady will be pleased."

"Don't tell him I helped," Sam pleaded, though his eyes were playful. "He won't let me hear the end of it!"

"It's for a good cause. You'll come across as a gentleman."

"Gingerbread for the homeless kids… you're right." He slipped an arm around her waist. "It really is. You know, we could do this again some time."

"What, baking?" Jess asked. "That's some change of heart, Sam."

The boy shrugged. "What can I say? You sold it to me."

"What'll it be next time? Muffins or jam tarts?"

"No way, it's too difficult!" Sam grimaced and stuck his fingers in his ears, and the girl laughed at the comical sight of the tall man looking so boyish.

"What about cheesecake or brownies?"

Lowering his arms with a defeated sigh, Sam conceded. "Fine. Brownies can't be more difficult than this. But if you want me to cook with you, we're doing it on my terms."

"Is that so, Winchester?" Jess strode to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, fingers clutching the straps that curled around his neck. "What exactly are your terms?"

"Oh, just one thing," Sam said, a mischievous grin breaking across his face. "We get as messy as possible."


End file.
